


Talk

by Anythingtoasted



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dirty Talk, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-24
Updated: 2013-08-24
Packaged: 2017-12-24 12:46:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/940166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anythingtoasted/pseuds/Anythingtoasted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the temptation to name this after a Rihanna song was extremely great. PWP, mutual masturbation, dirty talk, threads of bottom!dean. ♥♥♥</p>
            </blockquote>





	Talk

Cas shuffles back towards the headboard, cock bobbing heavy between his legs, thighs spread. He pulls Dean with him; he says, “Talk to me.”

Dean leans over him, breathing hard, and at first he has no idea what Cas wants him to do; Castiel is naked - they both are, actually - and he’s already flushed from his neck to his chest. He has his dick in his hand, stroking slow but sure, almost lazy. His eyes flicker, half-closing, on every upstroke, and Dean kneels between his legs just fucking  _watching,_ a hand on each of Castiel’s raised knees.

He has paused too long; Castiel eyes him; the hand that isn’t on his dick is pressed to the sheets beside him, fingers tightening just a little every time he grips himself just right. “Dean,” he prompts, and Dean remembers himself. “Talk to me,” he says, again, and Dean closes his eyes briefly; reaches down to fist his own cock, then brings his hand back up to Castiel’s knee. They’ve never gone this far before, never this slow; usually it’s ten minutes, not even that; a hasty handjob when the privacy allows, which is rare. He’s okay with it, mostly, but having Cas spread out under him like this is too much of a gift to waste.

Sam is out; they have hours ahead of them, alone, and Dean intends to make the best of it. Apparently, Cas does too.

“Jesus,” is all he manages at first, and Castiel flicks him another gaze, almost pissy. “Jesus, Cas, where do I fucking  _start?”_

Castiel smiles at that – a slow, thick little upturn of his mouth, glad and almost  _smug._ Dean shifts a little on his knees. Cas is still moving his hand, precome leaking over his fingers, the noise getting slicker with each stroke. His cock is so dark with blood, so large and heavy in his hand that Dean just can’t stop  _looking,_ but that isn’t the entire game, here, is it? “Do you even know,” he starts, because that’s as good as anything else, “Do you even know how much I’ve wanted to get you like this?” his voice comes out hoarser than he means it to; Castiel holds his gaze and makes a short, soft little groaning sound.

“Like what?” Castiel murmurs, and Dean grins.

“You know  _what;_ like this, all warm and slick and fucking  _wet, Cas,_ look at you,” he breathes in; leans down, over Cas, careful not to touch his cock with his belly as he presses forward to kiss him. “Like this, for  _me,”_ he mumbles against his mouth, and Castiel murmurs, pleased.

“What else?” he says, voice ratcheting low, and Dean chuckles as he pulls away; notes that Cas’ hand moves faster with every word, that his breathing gets a little less regular.

“Wanted  _you,_ Cas, all of you,” he gathers courage when Castiel shifts his feet at that, toes curling; Dean hears the little  _shff_ of fabric when he pushes his heels around against the sheets. “Wanted you in my mouth, wanted you in me,” he’s surprised by how into this he’s getting, himself; his cock is heavy, draped hard over his thigh, and he shifts, widening his legs, smiling when Castiel’s eyes track down to follow the movement. “Could we do that?” he murmurs, knowing the answer will be yes but dimly worried that Cas will refuse him. Cas, however, doesn’t disappoint; he stutters, lifts his hips, driving his cock into his fist, tipping his head back, just a little, against the wall.

“ _Dean._ Yes,” he says between breaths, and then, “How did you imagine it? How will it be?”

Dean can feel his heart  _thumping,_ embarrassed and fucking thrilled he asked, all at once. He leans closer, up to Cas’ ear; ends up holding himself just a bare inch from Castiel’s body, so close he can feel the heat coming off him. “Depends,” he says, and stops just to feel Castiel exhale against his jaw. “I like it slow sometimes; you could open me up real careful, get your fingers in me, maybe your tongue, then push into me inch by inch. Make it last,” Castiel draws a shuddering breath; says his name. Dean reaches for his own cock, now so hard it’s a distraction, and he flicks his eyes to Castiel’s for confirmation that it’s okay. Cas nods frantically, says his name again, and Dean takes that as permission to stroke himself, leaning over Castiel’s trembling stomach, supporting his weight with a hand on the wall behind Cas’ head.

“Or we could really fucking get into it,” he continues, sinking a kiss beneath Castiel’s ear, “you could have me against the headboard, pushing back onto your cock,” Castiel makes a wild, ragged sound, “Or have me in your lap, hold my hips and tell me how fast or slow to go.” Another kiss; Castiel has his eyes half-shut but he keeps flicking them open to look at Dean. “I’m with you, Cas,” he assures him, and Castiel groans. The sound of his hand on his cock is so wet now that it’s obscene; Dean isn’t faring much better, hand slipping in his own slickness, precome dripping onto Castiel’s navel, into the hair leading from his belly to his cock. Heat pools and wrenches beneath his ribs.

“You close?” he mutters, and Castiel almost glares at him because it’s so obvious that he is; he’s pushing his cock into his hand with his hips, knees trembling on either side of Dean’s thighs. His breath is so frantic it’s almost stopped entirely.

“You wanted that?” Castiel says, voice tight with the strain, and Dean dips his head against his neck and hums his assent.

“Wanted it. Want it now,” he breathes, and jacks himself faster thinking of it, “Want you to fill me up, Cas, can you do that?” It’s nonsense, the whole thing is, but Castiel’s eyes go wide at his words and he chokes Dean’s name again and comes, spurting hot over Dean’s stomach, over his hand.

Castiel sags but Dean is still going, murmuring nonsense into Castiel’s neck. When he tips over the edge moments later it drips from his hand onto Castiel’s stomach. Dean looks down at him, still stripping his own cock, drawing the last dregs of orgasm from within himself. “Cas,” he says desperately, because he looks so fucking beautiful, flushed and sweaty and wet; Cas hauls him down, hooking an arm over his shoulders and presses them together chest to chest, mixing the mess.

They look at each other in silence, foreheads pressed together. Castiel tilts his face so they can kiss, and then pulls away, face splitting in a slow, indulgent grin. “I think I can do that,” he says quietly, and Dean flushes from his toes to his cheeks, wishes he were ready to go again right that  _second_. “We’ve got time.”


End file.
